


Release

by rudbeckia



Series: Random Worlds [34]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: Armitage and Ben have been put together to share a flat by the university housing association. Armitage claims to have taken an instant dislike to Ben because of his careless attitude, and Ben tells his friend that Armitage is stuck-up. That’s definitely all they feel about one another, right? There couldn’tpossiblybe anything else - after all they’re flatmates anddefinitelynot each other’s type. Ben finds out that Armitage teaches an exercise class at the same gym where he does weights and laughs at him. Armitage issues a challenge to find out which activity is harder: weights or Zumba.





	Release

Armitage let the heavy cardboard box slip from his arms onto the single bed and swung his enormous, overstuffed backpack on top. He stretched his arms and swore at the ache, shaking his joints out for a few seconds then unzipped his backpack. He pulled out his neatly rolled clothing and shook each garment before hanging as much as would fit into the narrow wardrobe. The good suit first, then carefully pressed trousers, then formal and semi-formal shirts. Everything else he laid out on the bed before re-folding and laying one garment at a time in the chest of drawers. Halfway through, Armitage sighed and marched into the hallway, pulled open the large storage cupboard and grumbled that the light did not come on when he snapped the switch up and down a few times. There was a serviceable ironing board and an iron which he examined closely. On return to his room, he took a notepad from his cardboard box and wrote _household toolkit, spare bulbs, steam iron with ceramic soleplate_ in neat letters at the end of his already long list of essentials.

His cardboard box took under a minute to unpack. Laptop on the desk, chargers in the deeper of the two desk drawers, textbooks on top of the chest of drawers in the other corner. Armitage looked around the small room, kicked his backpack under the bed, flattened the cardboard box for the recycling dumpster, checked his wallet and keys were in his pockets and went out. Forty seconds later he came back muttering _forgot my list_ to the empty flat, tore the page carefully from his notebook and went out once more.

On his return, Armitage found the main door unlocked. He put his shopping in his room along with the list (purchased items scored through once) and wrote _HUX_ in sharpie on the label of each item that he planned to store in the kitchen. Only then did he venture out into shared space. In the narrow kitchen, Armitage sneered at the jar of cheap coffee powder on the counter, put his fresh food on the middle shelf of the under-counter fridge and claimed the store-cupboard just above for everything else. He looked in all the other cupboards: the there was some battered cookware and chipped crockery but nothing Armitage would care to use. He wondered if his mysterious new flatmate would consent to a trip to Ikea with a shared budget for a starter kitchen kit, a matching dinner set, some of those cute colour-coded knives and chopping boards, and maybe some bland, generic pictures to relieve the magnolia monotony of the woodchip walls. 

A bang came from the other bedroom and all the lights went out. Armitage approached the room that would have been the living room a century or two ago when this was a millworkers’ modest family dwelling with beds that pulled down from recesses in the walls. Armitage had examined that room and rejected it as too draughty because of the huge bay window and too noisy because it was at the front of the tenement block. Now he knocked on the door and waited. The door opened with a squeak and a curse and Armitage faced a scowl from his new flatmate.  
“Hello, I’m Armitage Hux. I suppose the accommodation office matched us up and—”  
“Huh.” The scowl lifted a little as the man looked Armitage up and down. “Thanks for leaving me the bigger room. Sorry about the noise. I had an accident with my jian.”  
“Is it painful?” asked Armitage, slight concern passing over his face.  
“Hah! Gave me a jolt. Come in. Stand just there. I’m Ben Solo.”  
Armitage took two small steps into Ben’s territory and stopped, mouth gaping and eyes wide. Ben lifted a narrow, straight sword and whirled it above his head so fast that it made the air sing, then stood poised on one foot with the sword level with his head and pointed almost horizontally at Armitage, tapered point quivering. Armitage took an involuntary step back. His eyes glanced upwards, caught by a glint from the graceful blade. He yelled and pointed at the cable for the pendant ceiling lamp, now ending in bare copper rather than the paper globe and low-watt bulb that had been there before.  
“You idiot! We’ll never get our deposit back if you shred the fixtures and fittings!” 

Ben laughed and told Armitage not to get his knickers in a knot, which did not help matters at all.  
“It has to be fixed! You can’t leave it like that with bare wires hanging down!” said Armitage, his voice rising in pitch with concern bordering on panic as Ben swung his sword again. “You’ll get electrocuted!”  
“I’ll tape it up,” replied Ben with a shrug. “I didn’t like the lampshade anyway.”  
“No! Look, ugh, I can fix it as long as you didn’t break the socket part. Find me a chair to stand on. Ceiling’s too high.” Armitage disappeared into his own room and emerged with his new compact toolkit. Ben held the toolkit and passed up tools on request as Armitage detached the light fitting from its stub of cable and, cursing at the awkwardness of the short cable, reattached it to the end protruding from the ceiling, then screwed in a new bulb.  
“There,” said Armitage as he stepped down from the chair. “Go reset the circuit breaker.”  
“Oh I did that before,” replied Ben, hiding a smile.  
“You WHAT?” Armitage went even whiter than his usual pallor. “I COULD HAVE BEEN—“  
“Just kidding, sparky,” said Ben with a laugh. “I need you alive to pay half the rent. Thanks for fixing my light.”  
“Please don’t call me that and please don’t break anything else. Ugh, I’ll have to hurry to be in time for my Zumba class.”

Returning to his room, Ben picked up the last shreds of paper from the lampshade and plastic insulation dropped from Armitage’s wire-strippers, and batted gently at the new bulb swinging from the mended socket. He thought with a little warm guilt of the moment earlier when Armitage had reached up for the cable and his shirt had untucked a bit from his loose waistband, revealing a tiny glimpse of pale skin. Ben had wanted to touch to find out if it felt as warm and soft as it looked. He sighed and finished unpacking by throwing clothes into drawers and kicking his book box under the desk. Armitage Hux was Not His Type. Not at all. Besides, they were _flatmates_ and he had _rules._

Armitage met up with friends after Zumba. He used the post-gym coffee to whine about his new flatmate.  
“I tell you, he’s barbaric!” Armitage said, “I mean, who in their right mind swings a fucking _sword_ around indoors?”  
Thanisson laughed. “Puts your complaints about me and ‘Tak into perspective.”  
“No, I’d rather share with an armed lunatic than you two slobbering all over one another,” said Armitage. He chewed his lip quietly for a few seconds and sipped his Earl Grey. “I fixed his light fitting and tried to be nice but—“  
“You like him.” Mitaka’s voice stayed flat.  
“I do not!” Armitage protested. “He’s awful. Not my type at all.”  
“Hux, for someone you only met today and don’t like, you talk a lot about him.” Mitaka grinned as Armitage flustered then offered a reprieve. “How about we talk about this problem I have to do for my solid state tutorial on Monday instead?”  
Both relieved and disappointed by the change of conversation topic, Armitage spent the next fifteen minutes pleasantly lost in the ordered land of crystal structures while Mitaka listened and took notes and Thanisson silently wished he’d brought a book.

The flat was quiet when Armitage slipped his key into the lock and let himself in. He upended his gym bag over his pop-up laundry hamper, wandered into the kitchen, and wondered if Ben would agree to contribute towards the cost of a washing machine to save them both hauling their laundry to and from the coin-op. Nothing fancy, thought Armitage, just a basic model with a decent spin speed and—

“Hi, how was Zumba?” Armitage startled at the sound of Ben’s voice and Ben grinned.  
“It was good,” replied Armitage. “There were a few new people tonight so I had to teach them the steps.”  
“Wait,” said Ben with a frown. “You’re, like, the teacher?”  
“Yes,” replied Armitage with a curt nod. “I’m a qualified Zumba instructor.”  
“You teach Zumba.”  
“Yes.”  
“So... Zumba teacher is, like, a real job that people have?”  
“What’s your problem?” demanded Armitage, clattering a mug onto the worktop. “So I teach Zumba.”  
“Looks easy,” said Ben with a shrug, “like just jiggling around to music. I prefer the challenge of weights. I go to the gym most mornings to work out.”  
Armitage ran his gaze over Ben’s muscular build and stored the information for later.

Sunday dawned bright and clear with pink-yellow highlights in a pale blue sky. Armitage saw exactly none of the beauty of the sunrise, but Ben rose early and set off to run to the gym. On arrival, Ben nodded a greeting at a friend in the free weights area and got to work. Between sets, they chatted.  
“I heard you moved,” said Phasma. “How’s the new place?”  
Ben set down his weights gently and shook out his arms. “Flat’s fine,” he said. “Flatmate’s an asshole though.”  
“Anyone I know?’ asked Phasma as she picked up her weights again and started her next set.  
“Name’s Armitage Hux. He’s a bit—“  
Phasma was already laughing and shaking her head. “I know who you mean. Doing a Ph.D. in something with a fancy name. Wears a suit to take undergraduate tutorial classes. Used to be my mate Doph’s flatmate until Doph’s boyfriend moved in.”  
Ben rolled his eyes and focussed on his crunches whilst trying to banish the image of Armitage Hux in a formal suit from his mind. Especially the image of himself tousling perfectly slicked hair and loosening the knot of a silk tie.

Back at the flat, Armitage was still pink from the shower when Ben got home.  
“I have a challenge,” he said. “You come to my Zumba class this week and I’ll do weights with you. Then we’ll see which is easier.”  
Ben grinned and stuck out his hand for a handshake. “Deal.”

They agreed on Zumba on Tuesday and Thursday nights with weights straight after. On Tuesday, Armitage set up for his class and looked around for Ben. Ben slipped into the back of the mirrored studio just as Armitage was beginning the warm up.  
“Ben! So glad you made it,” called Armitage over the music. “I saved you a space here. Everyone, this is Ben my flatmate. He’s never been to class before so let him come up front so he can see all the moves.”  
To Ben’s horror, the class parted to give him a path to the front. He stood in the space allocated for him and glared back at Armitage’s smirk. The warm up finished and the music changed. Armitage demonstrated the moves, Ben tried to copy, and the people around him smiled encouragement at every mistake. 

By the end of the first track, Ben was sweating profusely. Armitage called for a water break and everyone trotted to the sides to grab drinks bottles. Ben wiped his face on his top and gratefully accepted the bottle held out by Armitage. Too soon the brief break ended and the music started up with a faster beat. Ben watched Armitage, arms moving sinuously in time with the sway of his hips, and tried desperately to look as competent as he could but his body felt awkward like he was constantly playing catch-up with the beat. Around him, people in tight leggings and loose shirts laughed and gyrated, light on their feet and loose limbed, anticipating changes and keeping up easily with commands called out over the music. Ben scowled at his own feet for not knowing where to put themselves. 

At the start of the sixth track even Armitage was pink-faced and damp. He had hitched up his top and tied it somehow to show a strip of pale midriff above the waist of his leggings. This gave Ben a better view of Armitage’s backside as he rolled his hips through the slower beat of this track. It was very hard not to stare and not to let his imagination loose. Ben dragged his eyes higher up, away from Armitage’s hips, to meet the reflected gaze of Armitage himself in the mirror wall. Ben looked away quickly, glad that his face was red and hot already. For the rest of the class, Ben stared intently at the CD player, a little relieved that the public humiliation of being the worst in the class cooled his ardour.

The torture finished eventually. Armitage made the class stretch and cool down, there was a spontaneous round of applause and two people smiled and chatted to Ben because _haven’t you done well for your first class! You really move very nicely for a newbie. Will we see you again next week?_ Ben bit his lip and held his tongue. He waited, drinking from Armitage’s water bottle, while Armitage tidied up, then smiled.  
“Your turn to suffer,” he said. “Free weights.”

Forty minutes later, Armitage thought he might never move again. He’d done three sets of ten of every exercise Ben had demonstrated, with weights that felt laughably light at first but seemed to get heavier as the end of the third set approached. Ben checked Armitage’s technique and guided his back and shoulders into the correct position a couple of times, then sat or stood opposite and mirrored every exercise only with more weight. Armitage accused him of showing off and Ben shrugged and nodded, smirking at the faces Armitage pulled as he struggled to complete each set. Once finished, to Ben’s relief Armitage declared that he would rather shower in private at home than in the communal changing room facility with its unpredictable water temperature. Back home, Ben made tea while Armitage showered, then stood under the shower himself with the scent of Armitage’s shampoo still in the damp air. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the cool tiles of the wall. _No,_ he thought, shaking his head slowly. _He’s not your type and you have Rules about this._

Meanwhile, Armitage drank tea and tried not to think about Ben’s physique. He puzzled over other events of the evening. Ben _had_ been staring at his arse, or had he imagined seeing Ben’s eyes in the mirror focus on him then look away? He had tied up his shirt to see if that would catch Ben’s eye, and it had but perhaps his flatmate was simply trying to work out which overdeveloped muscle to flex to make his hips sway in the same way. At the end of the class, Ben _had_ looked pretty neutral when those two women came over to hit on him. He hadn’t flirted back or anything, had he? Ben’s hands had been warm on his shoulders and hip in the free weights area, but had correcting his posture been an excuse for a lingering touch or was Ben genuinely concerned that he’d strain a tendon with poor technique? When they’d walked home together sharing edited snippets of their histories with each other, had their occasional bump-oops-sorrys been purely accidental? Not that any of it mattered, thought Armitage as Ben emerged in a fragrant cloud of water vapour with a towel around his waist. Ben wasn’t his type. Besides, they were flatmates. Armitage said goodnight and shut himself in his room. 

Next morning, Armitage thought he was going to die in bed simply because he would not be able to get out of it. He managed this feat by flopping onto the floor and landing on his knees then pushing himself up using his arms as little as possible. He found the strength to open his door and went into the kitchen. Ben was already there, filling the kettle and putting it down carefully, backing up and supporting himself on the worktop. Armitage laughed.  
“Good morning. How are you feeling?”  
Ben turned deep, concerned eyes on Armitage and sighed. “I have pain in muscles I never knew existed. I can barely stand upright and if I want to turn or bend I have to give it serious thought. You?”  
“Ruined,” admitted Armitage. “My arms, shoulders and abs feel as if I’ve been kicked. I release you from your promise to go to Thursday’s Zumba if you say I don’t have to do weights ever again.”  
“Okay,” Ben agreed readily. “I apologise for dissing your exercise class. I wonder if anyone I know would give me a massage?”  
“I’d offer if my arms hurt less,” said Armitage, testing out his range of motion and finding it lacking.  
“Really?” Ben looked across to meet Armitage’s glance and hoped he didn’t sound too eager.  
“Yeah,” said Armitage. “Why not. We’re flatmates.”  
Ben grimaced as he tried to stretch. “What if I massage your arms until they feel a bit better,” he suggested, “then you massage my lower back and quads?”  
“I don’t have any massage oil.”  
“Me neither.”  
“Oh.” Armitage hoped he didn’t sound too disappointed. “Well then, I suppose a gentle walk down to campus will have to do instead.” 

Back in his room, Armitage took out his shopping list and added another item to the end.  
_Massage oil_

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more form this au.


End file.
